


play to the fullest

by emblems



Series: eyes like a soldier [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Study, Rival Relationship, medal kiss, yeah i went there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:23:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8966788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emblems/pseuds/emblems
Summary: Yuri suggests they ditch the banquet early. Otabek, of course, can't find it in himself to say no.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written while listening to "la parfum de fleurs" from the ost, which you should buy because it's on itunes now
> 
> shoutout to leonie for giving me the initial premise of otabek kissing yuri's medal ([THERE'S ART GO LOOK](https://twitter.com/hawberries_/status/811833696013561857)), and a big thank u to [penny](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Euphorion) for giving this a read-through and helping me figure out what i was missing. <3
> 
> [title is from otabek's ep12 soliloquy. boy do i love otabek altin.]

Otabek knew that Yuri had won gold the moment he landed his last jump. 

It’s going to be close; Yuuri Katsuki left his heart on the ice for all to see, and his score reflected it. Otabek doesn’t know much about him, knows less about his relationship with his coach, but it’s impossible not to see the sheer  _feeling_  imbued into that routine. 

But Otabek can sense Yuri’s victory in his bones, feels the earth shifting under his feet while Yuri Plisetsky makes history in the only way he can, with beauty unfurling in every jump, every spin. 

There’s something else, too—a statement, a challenge that Otabek can’t quite pin down. He sees it in the determination etched in Yuri’s expression—brow set, mouth a firm line. Otabek knows what Yuri’s concentration looks like; he’s kept it in the back of his mind for near five years, and so he knows this is more than that. It’s a call, every outstretched hand, every landed jump an appeal to someone in the audience.

When Otabek learned the name of Yuri’s short program, he looked it up.  _Agape_ : an unconditional love, a love that transcends.

Yesterday, Yuri set the world record by showing everyone what that looked like.

Today, Otabek is learning what it looks like to fight for that love. 

All he knows is that this isn’t a call meant for him. He hopes, whoever it’s for, that they see it. He hopes they know what it means for Yuri to fight like this. 

The crowd roars as Yuri brings his performance to a close; Otabek has been standing the entire routine, but the rest of the audience joins him, and he claps with the rest of them.

He’s smiling, enough that it’s starting to hurt his cheeks, but he can’t bring himself to mind.

Yuri takes the podium’s top spot, and his eyes are steely even as they lower the medal around his neck. 

That hard-set expression—the one Otabek is so familiar with—wavers for just a moment as Yuri makes eye contact with him. There’s a ghost of a smile, something a little bittersweet, before Yuri averts his attention elsewhere, gaze flickering to Yuuri Katsuki.

Otabek follows Yuri’s eyes. Looking at Yuuri, you’d never be able to guess that he won silver and not the gold; the light in his eyes makes him look like he’s the champion today.

Looking at Victor Nikiforov, Otabek starts to understand why that is. 

When they’re let down from the podium, Yuri is all but whisked away by his coaches. 

Otabek doesn’t hear from him until he gets a text just as he’s arriving to his hotel.

_you’re going to the banquet, right?_

He responds:  _Yes._

Yuri doesn’t send anything back in response, but Otabek doesn’t need to ask to know Yuri will be there too. 

Otabek arrives to the banquet just a little late; Yuri is already surrounded by a throng of people wishing him congratulations. The pairs teams, the female skaters (Mila has wrapped an arm around Yuri’s neck, and Otabek wonders just what kinds of stories she could tell about her rinkmate)—everyone is buzzing over Yuri’s performance, over his breaking the world record and managing to snatch the gold even after Yuuri Katsuki’s inspired performance.

Yuri sees him, and Otabek knows the cry for help when he sees it; he recognizes it from two days ago, in the alleyway.

Otabek cuts into the crowd surrounding Yuri, barely noticing the way people make room for him, the way they’re whispering his name; he focuses on what’s right in front of him.

Yuri’s relief is palatable, and he takes Otabek by the arm and whispers “get me out of here.”

With a hand on Yuri’s shoulder like it’s instinct, he leads the way.

They make it to a corner away from the noise and shuffle of the other skaters, Yuri having somehow secured an entire platter of tapas on the way.

Mid-chew, he eyes Otabek’s champagne glass. “Let me try some,” he says.

“I’m not sure—“

But Yuri has already slipped the glass from his hand, saying something about how Yakov never lets him try it—only to take a sip and gag. 

“That’s disgusting,” he says, eying the glass with disdain.

Otabek wordlessly switches back their drinks, returning Yuri his sparkling cider.

Yuri takes a gulp to wash out the champagne, and Otabek wishes his offended expression wasn’t so endearing.

Taking another bite of food, Yuri casts his gaze out to the ballroom at large. While his shoulders are slightly more at ease now, his hands aren’t idle, fingers tapping against his glass while he chews at the inside of his mouth. 

He’s pulled his hair back from his face for the banquet; it’s something less involved than how he wears it for his free skate, but it means that Otabek can see the lines of his face all the more clearly, can see that there’s something weighing down the line of his brow. 

Yuri glances at him, catching Otabek looking. “What?”

(It’s muffled, because Yuri is again mid-chew, and Otabek feels his heart knock against his ribs.)

“Nothing,” Otabek responds.  _You seem restless_ , he wants to say.

Yuri doesn’t give him the chance: “We should get out of here.” 

He says it as if it’s something back he’s been holding back all night.

“It’s only been an hour.” Otabek responds.

Truthfully, it’s a token protest—the idea has already taken hold, and Otabek finds it difficult to say no to the thought of him and Yuri spending time alone in the city.

“It's been an hour of people constantly asking me how I plan to top this at the Europeans, or at Worlds, or how I feel about Victor returning in time for the Russian Nationals,” Yuri says. He pauses, then: “And an hour of having to look at those two being gross.” 

He gestures across the room, where Victor and Yuuri are dancing, eyes looking nowhere but at each other.

Otabek realizes that this is the spot that Yuri has been looking at for the past few minutes, and he feels as though a piece just clicked into place. That look of concentration—it echoes the one he saw earlier today in Yuri’s skating, when Yuri looked at Yuuri on the podium. 

He doesn’t fully understand it, still—not yet. But he wants to figure it out, wants to know what it was about Yuuri Katsuki that drove Yuri to win gold today. 

He wants to know if he can inspire the same thing.

But for tonight, he’ll leave it be, so he only says: “They seem quite fond of each other.” He knows as soon as the words leave his mouth that it’s a wholly inadequate description.

Yuri snorts. “You have no idea,” he says ruefully, though Otabek wonders if Yuri is aware his gaze has softened.

Yuri turns his attention back to Otabek, and this time he doesn’t say anything about Otabek looking at him. Traces of that warmth linger in Yuri’s eyes, and Otabek swallows. “Do you want to leave or not?”

Otabek doesn’t need to consider the question any longer; he nods.

* * *

 With an unspoken agreement, they end up on the bike. They ride aimlessly around Barcelona for awhile, Otabek navigating the dinner crowds with Yuri’s arms around his waist.

They end up, perhaps inevitably, at the vantage point where they had that conversation not two days before.

Otabek marvels that something that came about so recently is already a fixture in his life. 

Yuri leans against the stone wall, looking out over the city. 

Otabek almost feels bad for interrupting the quiet, but he still asks, “Can I see it?”

Yuri straightens and turns, frowning as Otabek takes a step closer, so they stand side-by-side.

“The medal,” Otabek explains. “I felt it in your pocket on the way here.”

It was hard to mistake the round shape pressing against his back, given Yuri’s proximity.

“I—oh,” is Yuri’s only response at first. After a moment, he nods and unzips his pocket to pull it out. Slowly, deliberately, he unfurls the ribbon it’s attached to, and extends it towards Otabek as delicately as if it were a small child.

Otabek takes it gently, hands brushing over Yuri’s as he does, and examines it in the dim light the moon affords them. 

“You should have been on the podium too.”

The words come so quickly it takes Otabek a moment to comprehend what Yuri said.

He’s holding Yuri’s eyes when it clicks, and he blinks. The medal sits in his palm, and he closes his hand around it.

He doesn’t disagree; he still finds himself wishing that he’d been able to look up at Yuri from a position on the podium, been able to take home bronze with the goal to be in opposite positions the next time they squared off, but—

“You deserve this,” he says.  _More than anyone._  “You won today. Focus on that.” 

Otabek lifts the medal and lowers it to rest on Yuri’s shoulders, not letting himself look at Yuri’s face until it rests against his chest. When he does, he can tell—even in the dim light—how pink Yuri is, and he remembers how they stood here just two days ago and he got to see that same flush in the light.

Feeling slightly emboldened, he lifts the medal to kiss the cool surface, trying not to smile at the sound of Yuri’s sharp intake of breath. 

“Besides,” he says, lips still pressed against the gold, “there’s time.” He relinquishes hold of the medal, setting it against Yuri’s chest. “Plenty of time to win a gold against you.”

Yuri’s head snaps up, looking from the medal to him, brows arched. “That confident, are you?” he asks, a smirk beginning to form.

Otabek sees it again—that competitive fire, the one that makes Yuri’s eyes light up in a way that sends a thrill down his spine. This one, though—this one is different, he’s realizing. 

This one is for Otabek. 

His only response to Yuri’s question is this: “I look forward to your performance at Worlds.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was just supposed to be otayuri medal kiss but then it kept growing and, really, who am i to stop that?
> 
> this one goes out to all of my otayuri pals on twitter, new and old, but in particular to mona. she knows why (and if she says she doesn't she's fuckin lying)
> 
> come yell abt otayuri and yoi w me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/otayuris)


End file.
